


It's Never a Farewell

by hippoprima



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippoprima/pseuds/hippoprima
Summary: Bond attends the funeral of another loved one.





	It's Never a Farewell

 

The day of the funeral was sunny and clear. The sky was the blue of children's crayon drawings and contrasted with the bright green lawns it made for a spectacular picture. Suppose it'd be more fitting if it was raining but James didn't care for cold and damp in the name of pathetic fallacy.

 

The open gallery where the casket was afforded a wonderful view of the extensive grounds of the cemetery. Sunlight slatted in between the fluted stone columns at the far end but the gallery remained cool, airy, and, most importantly, empty in the interim time between service and burial. James' footsteps echoed faintly in the empty hall as he approached; it reminded him of visiting Q down in his subterranean domain, where his shoes clicked along more loudly in the enclosed space of the tunnels.

 

He was dressed not in the somber colours customary at a funeral, but in the style Q favoured - plaid in dusky mulberry and lavender shades, muted emerald shoes to match his shirt, Q's own oxblood tie. The other mourners had startled and gave him disapproving looks when he turned up, but Moneypenny, Mallory, and Tanner looked on with soft, knowing eyes.

 

James smoothed a hand along the flag that covered the casket then sat on the steps in the gap between the columns closest to it and looked out to watch the workers making final preparations in the distance.

 

"I wasn't going to come you know, but Eve made me. That woman is near impossible to hide from," his lips quirked up in a wry smile. "You know how I hate all this pomp and ceremony, would you have minded, darling?"

 

James fiddled with and twisted the wide silver band around his finger. "No, I don't think you would. I dare say if you could have you'd missed this too."

 

He squinted at a pair of people making their way down to the grave site, likely the funeral director and his assistant checking up on the progress. He'll have to be quick if he wanted to slip away before the other mourners returned.

 

This time wasn't like when the others died, Tracy, Vesper, M. Oh the anger was there, at first, it seemed like a default reaction of his to almost everything. Anger at the injustice of it, anger at his ineffectuality, his helplessness... Funny how a secret service field agent was able to reach retirement but a basement-dwelling boffin couldn't reach mid-life. Even more pitiful was that Q hadn't died in the line of duty for Queen and Country, he had counted as one of the civilians killed during a series of terror attacks at various London landmarks, out on one of his tourist-at-home trips because he hated to fly.

 

James was home at the time, reading a coding for dummies book Q had gotten him as joke. He didn't even find out about the attacks until he'd turned on the telly while waiting for Q to come home for dinner.

 

He turned to drink then, and would have sunk into a stupor despite Moneypenny's constant checking-ins if not for the cats. The shaggy old furballs that normally ignored him would curl around him any time he sat or slept, sharing his loss and comforting him with their small purring bodies. They used to do the same whenever Q was stressed or tired and they're doing it for him. It reminded him that he wasn't the only one who was hurting. So he cleaned up his act and meekly followed Moneypenny's every directive in getting things all sorted out.

 

But this part here, the solemnity, the quiet murmurs of condolences, this part wasn't necessary. Q was already gone, this was a show for the living, James was better off at home keeping the cats company. So now that James had shown face at the service he was going home.

 

The funeral director and his assistant were making their way back now, their steps slow as they crested a small rise in the grounds. James stood with a groan and dusted his trousers. He stood beside the casket and imagined Q sleeping peacefully inside. A tiny part of him was glad that it was not Q standing here fighting off waves of sorrow and loss. That Q will never experience this pain.

 

He ran his hand once more along the top of the casket, where Q's head would be, feeling the fabric of the flag rippling under his touch.

 

"I'm going now, the furballs will need some cheering up. I won't be seeing you off but sleep well, love," he patted the casket, "I'll see you on the other side."


End file.
